


Wendigo

by separatedrain



Series: OTP Challenge [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluffy Porn, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/separatedrain/pseuds/separatedrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The odds should be pretty good, what with three of them against the one wendigo, but dammit, they can be sneaky bastards sometimes. That’s Dean’s rationale when he finds himself suddenly shoved to the ground unceremoniously, flare gun skidding off several paces away, by the creature he really should have heard coming up behind him. (Prompt #7 — injured during a hunt. Which I mostly used as an excuse to write shower porn, FYI.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wendigo

**Author's Note:**

> So, before you get the wrong idea from me posting 7 of these ficlets in a row... this is all I've got written for this challenge so far. I plan to write to other 23, um... some day. Yeah.
> 
> ([Tumblr version here](http://separatedrain.tumblr.com/post/66253086560/30-day-otp-challenge-7-injured-during-a-hunt))

The odds should be pretty good, what with three of them against the one wendigo, but dammit, they can be sneaky bastards sometimes. That’s Dean’s rationale when he finds himself suddenly shoved to the ground unceremoniously, flare gun skidding off several paces away, by the creature he really should have heard coming up behind him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that this is Cas’ first real hunt since he’s turned fully human, and he definitely wasn’t paying closer attention to any possible distress calls from other parts of this cave than to his immediate surroundings. That’d be ridiculous. Nope, his sudden close encounter with the floor is all on the damn wendigo. As it happens, Dean lets out a yelp that’s only a little bit undignified, thank you, and is already scrambling back to his feet when he is spared further efforts on account of elongated fingers wrapping around his neck and yanking him up.

Dean squirms and shoves, trying to escape the wendigo’s grasp, but the thing is strong, and not exactly doing the most awesome things to his air supply right now. Dimly, he can hear footsteps approaching in the distance. Maybe undignified yelps are good for something after all. The creature seems to have picked up on the noise as well and stalks off after it, but not before flinging Dean aside. His trajectory is cut short by the cavern’s wall, and the last thing Dean registers is a flash of white-hot pain shooting up his arm upon impact.

“Dean? Dean!”

After what could be a moment or a year, he’s really not sure, the blackness dissipates and Cas’ face swims into focus above him. “Uh. Hi there,” he mumbles intelligibly. Blinks a few times. “The wendigo..?”

“Is dead,” says Cas. Well, that explains the overpowering scent of charred flesh rapidly filling his nostrils, then. “Are you—”

“And Sammy?”

“I haven’t seen him since we split up, earlier,” Cas admits. “And there is no cell phone reception in these caves. But as far as we know, there was only the one wendigo, so—”

“So he’s probably alright,” Dean finishes for him.

“Yes. I suspect he’ll have heard the commotion over here and is currently on his w— are you okay?” Cas is suddenly all concern again. Possibly brought on by the fact that Dean just had the brilliant idea of pushing himself upright, and his wrist is pretty vehemently disagreeing.

“Fine,” he grits, pulling himself up by sheer abdominal strength instead, tucking the offending limb to his side protectively.

Cas eyes him suspiciously, but before he has the chance to respond, Sam comes jogging around the corner. “Oh, good, you found it,” he says, glancing at the still-smoking remains. “You guys alright?”

“I’m unharmed,” Cas says. “Dean is pretending to be as well.”

“It’s nothing.” Dean clambers to his feet with really only very minor wincing involved.

“Right,” says Sam, with a pointed look at the arm cradled against his chest. “Is this the kind of nothing that requires x-rays?”

* * * * *

All of which explains why Dean is currently muttering a string of profanities, attempting to fish a dropped shampoo bottle up off the floor while awkwardly holding one arm outside of the spray. He manages to complete the task at hand without getting the damned cast _too_ wet and straightens back out, only to suddenly find himself face to face with a certain ex-angel. Apparently hasn’t hindered his ability to sneak up on him unexpectedly at all. “Jesus, Cas, a little privacy?”

“I have seen you naked before, you know,” Cas points out. Which, fair enough, even if it’s been only like, three times so far. “I was on my way to the kitchen when I heard some rather colourful language coming from here, and thought I’d check… Do you need a hand?”

“A working one would be great,” Dean grumbles. “I’ll manage. Go make your coffee, or whatever you were about to.”

“I wouldn’t mind helping you out,” Cas says, then just starts stripping off his t-shirt without bothering to wait for a response. Even with this… thing they’ve gotten going recently, Dean can’t help but feel a little special at being prioritized above morning caffeine.

Having discarded all clothing, Cas gets into the shower behind him and takes the shampoo bottle that he hadn’t quite gotten around to using yet, what with this sudden interruption. Cas starts working the soap into his hair, and Dean promptly can’t remember why he ever even considered trying to send Cas off to his breakfast. Dean had finally worked up the courage to attempt a shower for the first time since the wendigo thing went down —two days ago, now— and he was already pretty pleased with the fruits of that labour, even if it was a little inconvenient, maybe… but this is just icing on the cake. Cas’ fingers massage little circles into his scalp, and it elicits a noise from Dean that he should probably be embarrassed about.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says suddenly, voice close to his ear and barely more than a whisper.

“What for? This is pretty damn great, man.”

“No, I mean… when we were hunting the wendigo, I—”

“Hey, no, don’t blame yourself for me getting my ass kicked. It was my idea to split up in the first place. Hell, if anything, you saved me back there, and I’m not sure I even thanked you properly for that.”

“That’s not what I meant, though.” Cas has apparently decided he’s done with the shampoo, sliding his arms around Dean’s waist, instead. He’s silent, for a moment, hot breath ghosting across the back of Dean’s damp neck. “I’m sorry I can’t just heal you, anymore.”

Oh. That. “It’s just a broken wrist, Cas. It’ll sort itself out soon enough. And, I don’t know,” he adds suggestively, “apparently being unable to take proper care of myself does have its perks.” He leans back, slotting their bodies together even closer.

Cas gets the hint and foregoes any more talking in favour of pressing a trail of kisses into his neck, coming around to suck a final one onto the pulse point just below his jawline. Dean breathes out another “Jesus, Cas” but it’s a complete 180 in tone from the one he gave him just a few minutes ago. He tips his head back and finds Cas’ mouth with his own.

Dean can’t help but marvel a little at the fact that this is something they do, now. Kissing Cas is rapidly becoming one of his new favourite hobbies, and in retrospect, he can’t believe he waited years to start doing it. There’s that whole thing where the guy literally rebelled against heaven and hell for him, and then there’s also the part where Cas, as it turns out, is actually a pretty fucking good kisser. Dean doesn’t know whether it’s instinct or if he’s just a fast learner, but the fact of the matter is that it’s becoming increasingly hard to know much of anything as blood gets diverted to his downstairs brain.

Cas, apparently, takes note. One of the hands around his waist suddenly slides down to wrap around his cock, wringing a gasp from Dean. “I figured you could use a hand with that, as well, considering.”

Dean groans his approval as Cas strokes the length of him. He wonders, not for the first time, where he even learned to do all this. Did the angel observe humanity in that much detail, throughout all those years? Or is this a new thing, human Cas with all of his human urges, touching himself, figuring out what feels good and what doesn’t… Dean would be lying if he said that particular image doesn’t turn him on, and before long he finds himself rolling his hips, pumping up into Cas’ fist a little frantically.

Cas tries to match his rhythm, precome slicking up his grip. A few more thrusts have Dean patterning the bathroom wall with flecks of milky white, Cas’ name on his lips. Cas holds him steady as he comes, which is probably a good thing as he’s not sure his own knees can be trusted right now.

Aftershocks fading, Dean grows aware of Cas’ own erection firmly pressing into his backside. He gently grinds back and is rewarded with a little keening moan against the back of his neck. “How about I take care of that for you, too, huh?”

"I thought," and it sounds as if Cas is only barely managing to keep his voice level, "the whole point was that you were somewhat incapacitated right now."

Dean turns around to face him, only just remembering to at least try and keep the cast out of the spray. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Cas’ comment, he probably wouldn’t have. He kisses him again, briefly, before sinking to his knees.

"Well. Good thing there’s lots of ways to go about that."


End file.
